


Caught Beneath the Landslide

by myownpatronus



Series: Champagne Supernova [2]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: 1x08, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Injury Recovery, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Prescription Drug Use, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownpatronus/pseuds/myownpatronus
Summary: TK finds a way to handle his anxiety, and his budding addiction to Carlos, as he continues to adjust to a new home. Episode coda to 1x08.A follow-up to my previous fic, but it's not necessary for you to have read that first.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Owen Strand & TK Strand
Series: Champagne Supernova [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971712
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	Caught Beneath the Landslide

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel of sorts to the fic I posted a while ago because I just can’t get this shit out of my head… inspired by this gifset (https://mattcasey.tumblr.com/post/612256357449629696) of TK being fidgety/nervous

Carlos was like a drug. Just being in his presence made TK giddy, happier than he’d been in a while. And coming down, when Carlos was gone, was like bad withdrawal. He craved Carlos more and more, and in a different way than he’d craved Alex and his other boyfriends. It was dangerous.

So he pulled away.

Carlos knew it all, or at least some of it. Carlos had arrested him, had seen his record, knew about his most recent relapse. And Carlos still seemed to want him around.

TK didn’t need another addiction. He needed to focus on work, on not screwing up again, on his dad’s health.

It hurt just as much as an overdose.

After a few months of good work and cooperation, his father had loosened up the restrictions. He only went to one meeting a week now, and the substance abuse counseling had ended when he’d successfully completed the program. Random drug tests had dropped to once a month.

The 126 was more than a home, closer than a family. They rallied and supported his father through his chemo and were first in line to defend him and his ability to function on the job.

But still. Watching his father suffer through the CPAT in full turnout gear was rough. A different kind of rough than sitting through chemo, but painful for him all the same.

All this uncertainty was making him nervous.

TK was, in general, a tense person. He felt like he was always functioning at a higher level of anxiety than those around him. Maybe it came from growing up in a divorced home. Maybe it came from that day in the third grade when he and his mom sat in front of the TV and had no idea if his dad was alive. Maybe it was the cause of his addiction, or the effect of it.

He had started using when an ex-boyfriend told him that it would calm him down, slow his thoughts. In a way, it had. It had also turned everything upside down. The world became somehow less when he was sober, and he was always chasing his next high.

He would give anything now to be able to just smoke a little weed, or pop a single pill, just to relax him enough to get through this week for his dad.

Instead, he called the counselor from the behavioral health department and got a referral to medication management with a psychiatrist at UT. He knew the medical file that the doctor would be getting would be incomplete; it was the same file that the fire department saw. It included no mention of addiction problems.

When he went to the appointment, he told the doctor enough but not everything. He shared about the weed, even. He shared that he was feeling increased anxiety due to his father’s cancer diagnosis and precarious position in the firehouse. And he walked out of the building with a prescription for Xanax burning a hole in his pocket, and a warning about taking it at work.

His father had been so proud when he had said that he was going to therapy, that he thought that there was more work he could do on himself, and that he wanted to ward off any future difficulties. He almost felt guilty, but figured that he had been honest about his current worries with the doctor. The Xanax wasn’t a new way to get high; it was legitimately, medically necessary to handle the anxiety he was feeling. Plus, it was meant to be short-term. 

He only took Xanax when he really felt he needed to. On mornings when he went to the hospital with his dad for chemo, when his dad insisted on practicing the CPAT at the station. At night after a particularly rough shift, like when his dad ran into a collapsed house to save a couple of kids, only to witness their father keel over and die mere minutes later.

The rest of the pills gathered in little orange bottles that he kept hidden from his dad in his locker at work.

He knew benzos were just as addictive as the opioids he’d been on before - but this was prescribed. He only took it when it was medically necessary. There was a psychiatrist monitoring him, who said that he needed it.

He started to feel more confident, knowing that he could make the anxiety melt away. So he began calling up Carlos. They would meet up at a bar after a shift, or get coffee in the morning. He never crossed the line with Carlos again, too sure that just one small slip up would lead to a landslide, but he reveled in Carlos’ presence.

And when Carlos was gone, when they both had to go their separate ways, he might grab a Xanax to prolong the high of Carlos’ influence, to keep the anxiety at bay. Or so he told himself.

* * *

It was his second 24 of the week. These shifts always screwed up his sleeping patterns. It’s never fully quiet in a firehouse, even once everyone has gone to bed. The office, while empty of people, is still full of radios and equipment, occasionally chirping out alerts from other stations. 

Sleep is never as restful at the station. He’s trained his body over the years to fall into a lighter slumber so that he can awaken immediately at the tones signalling a call. 

And on a 24, especially after the week he’s had, sleep often doesn’t even happen at normal times. 

Today, TK decided to take a Xanax. Buttercup was following him around like - well, like a lost puppy. And he couldn’t handle the emotions that Buttercup stirred up in him. The anxiety over his own father’s mortality. He wasn’t a driver, and it had been pretty slow since the rattlesnake infestation, so he figured that he’d be safe to pop a pill or two, calm down, and take a nap.

It felt like mere minutes later when the tones went off. Of course, it had been several hours, and he was almost more tired as he pulled himself from the bed. Buttercup was anxiously following him through the station and whined as he joined his crew on the engine.

They arrived on the scene last. Carlos was already there, standing next to Michelle and an older couple in the front yard. He assumed that this was going to be an easy call, nothing to do but turn around and go back to sleep, when dispatch informed them of the cardiac incident in the home.

Owen barked out orders and the team set to work like the well-oiled machine they were. TK grabbed the battering ram, and if he was a bit more sluggish than usual, it was probably just because of the weight of the instrument.

“Austin FD!” Owen called as they thundered into the home. Even if they weren’t in full turnout gear, a pack of three firefighters and three paramedics was about as subtle as a herd of elephants.

“TK, the door,” his dad instructed him.

When TK got the door open, he felt something. Like a punch to the shoulder - but worse. Like a sharp pinch that wouldn’t let up and just kept growing worse and worse and bigger and bigger and hotter and hotter. He staggered back a step, and realized that his vision was blurring. He didn’t know how he lost his balance, he was just standing, but then he fell backwards against the wall, barely registering the hands catching him, barely noticing his father’s panicked voice.

He’s been here before, he mused. This edge of life and death is familiar. Granted in the past, when he overdosed, it had been more serene, like going to sleep after a long, hard day. He’d welcomed it then. But back then he didn’t have his father begging him to hold on as he faded away.

* * *

Michelle barely registered herself setting to action. She called Judd over the radio, the big man the only one able to overpower Captain Strand so that she could see to TK. Nancy went to the bedroom to tend to the cardiac arrest patient with Marjan while Tim jumped to Michelle’s side immediately. She began barking orders, attempting to distance herself from the emotions of the moment. This was just another patient. 

Of course, TK  _ wasn’t  _ just another patient. He was a firefighter, one of her crew, her family. So she tuned out the panicked voices on the radio, in her ear. She ignored everyone but Tim and TK, and she set to work stabilizing him enough to move him.

* * *

Judd arrived while Michelle was tending to TK and he froze. This wasn’t his first time seeing a brother down on a call. The accident at the factory hadn’t even been the first line of duty deaths he’d experienced. He couldn’t let it trigger him again, though, because this wasn’t about him this time. This was about the Captain and his son.

The Captain who had been suffering in silence, building up his team and giving them all his strength, even when he needed to reserve it for himself so badly.

Judd pulled the older man away and guided him to the front yard.

The scene there was even more chaotic than inside the house. Everyone in the home had a job to do, something to distract them from the realization. But in the yard, his crew, his family, stood slack-jawed and helpless. And something about that must have stirred Owen to action.

“Officer Reyes, I need you and your partner to escort Mr. and Mrs. Ackerman back to their home. Mateo, Paul, one of you needs to call dispatch and get another unit on site. Judd -”

Judd was at his Captain’s side, waiting for an order that never came. While the two had started on rocky ground, they shared a bond between brothers forged from having been through extreme loss in the worst of circumstances.

“He’s gonna make it, Cap,” Judd said simply.

* * *

Once TK was stabilized, Michelle and Tim loaded him onto a stretcher and brought him outside to the ambulance. Captain Strand was already waiting beside the vehicle, looking paler and sicker than she’d ever seen him, even immediately after chemo.

“How is he? Is he okay? Michelle -”

“Owen, I need you to calm down and let my team work. We’ll take care of TK.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Carlos hanging on to every word.

TK was loaded into the ambulance and she joined him in the back. Captain Strand looked like he was in more pain than his son as he shut the doors. He had a job to do on the scene and couldn’t be a father at this moment.

The ambulance took off, sirens blaring and lights flashing, and they drove slowly and carefully so as to not jostle their precious cargo. Michelle set to work, adding an IV line and administering morphine to hopefully dull TK’s pain. She and Tim worked in tandem, silently and skillfully.

Moments later, beeping alerted Michelle to a sudden drop in blood oxygen levels. TK’s breathing, which had once been shallow but steady had become rapid and labored. His heart rate increased.

“He’s going into respiratory failure,” Michelle reported over her radio, and she felt their driver increase speed just a touch.

When they reached the hospital, Michelle reported everything she could to the ER doctors, the gunshot, the morphine, the respiratory distress. Tim had already called ahead, alerted them that they were coming, prepared them to know who the patient was. They quickly whisked TK away, assuring her that they would give him the best care.

She went into the first responders’ lounge to begin her paperwork, but could barely look at the paper without losing focus. She didn’t even realize that Tim had guided her to a chair and taken over the paperwork until she looked up some time later and saw him give her a small, sad smile.

“He’s gonna be okay. They know he’s one of ours,” Tim said kindly.

* * *

After closing the ambulance doors on his dying son, Owen turned back to the scene in front of him. His team had cleared up the scene quickly and efficiently. The police cruiser and the older couple were gone but, he noted, Officer Reyes had stayed behind.

Nancy and Marjan were inside, tending to the cardiac patient while waiting on a second ambulance to show up. Paul and Mateo were still on the engine, unsure what to do or how to proceed after having updated dispatch. And Judd merely stood beside Owen, a solid, silent presence at his shoulder.

“Michelle’s the best,” Judd said, “and TK’s strong.”

Owen nodded. 

As soon as the second ambulance and engine from the 128 showed up, he called his people on to the engine and they set off to the hospital. The other crew could handle everything from here on out. He noticed that Carlos had taken TK’s spot on the engine, but wasted only a moment wondering about that.

The radio was buzzing, other stations in the county asking for updates and sending well-wishes, offering support on the scene. It’s what always happens when one of their own is down, but right now he wants to shut them all up and just see his son.

At the hospital, his crew populated the waiting room, but he hovered at the nurse’s station, desperate to speak with a doctor. He has to explain - they need to know -

“Captain Strand?”

A woman in scrubs stood at the door, beckoning him to follow. As soon as they were alone, he forgot all social graces and said, “You have to be careful with morphine - with all opiates.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s in recovery. He’s been doing so well - but I don’t want him on any opioid-based medication. I’m worried that he’ll -”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll make a note of that in his charts.”

He winced, realizing that their secret will be out, and then realizing that he didn’t care at all, just so long as his boy was safe.

“How is he?”

“Tyler has a collapsed lung from the gunshot and is in surgery now. He lost a lot of blood and went into respiratory failure in the ambulance on the way here. It looks like morphine was administered and -”

Owen faltered. How had he forgotten to tell  _ Michelle  _ to keep his son off morphine? He knew it had been with good intentions, she had just wanted TK to be comfortable. This was  _ his  _ fault.

“--we suspect a bad interaction. Mr. Strand, do you know when your son last took Xanax?”

Owen faltered. The doctor had continued speaking as he’d spiraled, but now paused and waited for him.

“No,” he said truthfully. “I didn’t know he was taking it. He shouldn’t - it’s addictive…”

“It was prescribed by Dr. Hunter in psych,” she explained, “but benzodiazepines and opioids should not be mixed. Luckily, the paramedics were able to stabilize him in the ambulance, but the full extent of the interaction is unknown at this time. I will warn you that there is an increased risk of coma, especially when considering the other injuries.”

Coma. Owen imagined his son lying unconscious and suffering. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a difficult task; he has more experience than he’d like finding his son on death’s doorstep. But this time - this time it was on  _ him _ . He was TK’s captain. He was the one who told TK to knock down the door. He was the one who - what? He’d introduced them as the fire department when they walked into the home, but still. He’d failed, and now his son was lying on an operating table with a collapsed lung and uncertain future.

“I need to call his mother,” he said.

* * *

The crew of the 126 were ready to take up residence in the waiting room at the UT Hospital emergency room. The volunteer crew and B Shift career staff were already at the station, ready to start their shift. A Shift had nothing to do and nowhere to go. 

When Grace’s shift was over, she joined Judd and brought along several bags of takeout that dispatch had bought for the worried crew. In typical firehouse fashion, it was scarfed down within minutes, but the silence betrayed the situation, revealed how wrong it was.

Captain Strand’s phone seemed to ring every few minutes, until he finally turned it off. After that, there was nothing to interrupt the silence, not since they’d turned off the TVs, all of which were tuned into news reports about the firefighter who’d been shot.

Carlos and Michelle sat together, his head on her shoulder. It almost looked like he was sleeping, but his eyes were wide open and staring intently at the tiled floor.

It was hours before there was any news.

The doctor from earlier, Dr. Connors, returned and brought Captain Strand back. This time, she took him to a room, filled with one empty bed and a second occupied by - 

“TK,” Owen breathed, rushing over to his son.

Dr. Connors explained that the surgery had gone well, his lung was repaired, and now they really could only wait and see. He was on a non-opioid-based pain reliever and was comatose.

“Once the anesthesia wears off, we’ll know better what we’re facing, but we really can’t know anything for sure until he wakes up.”

Owen nodded. “Can my crew come see him?”

She shrugged. “I don’t see why not. He’s healthy, Captain Strand, and very strong.”

He wanted her to finish the sentence, to say that she had no doubts he would recover. But she couldn’t because even though TK prided himself on his physique, he still had abused his body and endangered himself time and time again. This couldn’t be it though. Owen would do everything in his power to make sure that it wasn’t.

The 126, Grace, and Carlos soon stuffed themselves in the room, still shaken up but visibly relieved to see TK looking almost like he could have been asleep. To them, all he had to recover from was a gunshot wound - which was certainly no walk in the park. But they didn’t know the extra hurdle of chemical dependency.

As the night wore on, people slowly trickled out of the room until only Owen and Carlos remained. Owen stood up, smiled at Carlos, and said, “I’ll give you a minute with him.”

Carlos looked surprised, but appreciative.

Owen didn’t want to admit it, but he needed a break, too.

* * *

TK slowly became aware of several things: first a bone-deep ache in his chest, second, wires and tubes pulling at him from all over his body, and third, the low tone of his dad’s voice somewhere in the vicinity.

He tried opening his eyes, and blinking seemed to take the greatest effort he had ever mustered. “D-dad?” he said.

A moment later, there it was. His dad’s hand in his. His eyes opened easier this time.

“What happened?”

“You got shot,” Owen said.

“I-I don’t remember.”

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

“I don’t know? Um, I went to bed early, or took a nap, because it was a slow shift. Then I think there was a call? Who shot me? What  _ happened _ ?”

“A seven-year-old boy. He thought he was defending his grandparents from an armed home intruder when you broke the door down.”

“A kid? Is he okay?”

“Only you would get shot and be more worried about the person who shot you.”

TK leaned back into his pillows and looked over at the IV line at his bedside.

“That’s not -?”

“No,” Owen answered, before TK could finish the question. His voice sharpened slightly, even though he tried to tone it down. “They didn’t want it reacting with your benzos.”

TK looked down, ashamed. “They were prescribed to me,” he said.

“Then why didn’t you tell me, or anyone? TK, Michelle tried to give you morphine in the ambulance. You nearly died due to drug interactions because you were hiding this from me.”

“I just - I didn’t want you to think that I was just getting high. I mean, yeah, I liked how it made me feel, but I really was taking it for anxiety and stuff.”

Owen sighed. He wanted to be angry with TK, for not telling him, for manipulating his doctor into getting a prescription for benzos, for anything and everything. But he couldn’t. Not when his son was lying in a hospital bed, still recovering from a gunshot wound that had nearly killed him.

“I’m sorry,” TK finally said, misinterpreting his father’s silence. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what it was doing to me. But I - I didn’t want to stop.”

“Son, you are the most important thing in the world to me,” Owen said. “I just don’t want to see you end up like this again.”

TK smiled weakly. “Well I’m not planning on getting shot again any time soon.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah,” TK said. “I promise dad. I’ll try harder.”

The room fell silent, apart from the beeping machinery. TK had almost fallen asleep when his father spoke again.

“So, when were you planning on telling me about you and the cop?”


End file.
